


Morgan's 12 Star Signs

by findingmariah



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Blind Date, Fluff and Humor, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, POV Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:33:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26560717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/findingmariah/pseuds/findingmariah
Summary: Tony was sure Stephen was the man of his life. Until he wasn't. During his own birthday, he finds out in the worst possible way that he was having an affair with Tony's friend from college. The result: 6 years thrown in trash and a heart in a million pieces.Rock bottom has no end for the spirituous journalism student, and he loses himself in sad movies, pizzas and memories of the old relationship. All that while daily stalking the profile of the ex-boyfriend. The cousin and best friend Peter can't stand it and decides do take him to a night out full of drinks, good music and interesting guys to heal the broken heart.It doesn't work. But the boy receives great advise from a peculiar man and finds out why his relationship didn't work out: astrology. Him, Aries, the ex, Pisces, together? Astral hell. Bingo! The answer to all his problems. All he needed was a Libra for a happy ending.But now Tony isn't so interested in finding true love, but instead finding out more about the Zodiac, deciding to make it his final assignment for his Online Journalism class "Morgan's 12 Star Signs", a blog under a pseudonym and with only one goal: record his love experiences with each one of the 12 Star Signs of the Zodiac.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark & Wade Wilson, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Tony Stark & Wade Wilson
Kudos: 14





	1. prologue.

Dear Stephen, 

Six years of our love theater. Six chords of this song I don't get tired of listening to. Six words you used to win me over. Six years you spotted me in the crowd.

I would really love to be spending our sixth anniversary by your side, probably pretending we're a refined couple and eating in a fancy restaurant to later return home, put on our holed onesies and watch a low-budget reality show while eating popcorn with melted chocolate - because the food in the expensive restaurant wouldn't get close to fulfilling the black holes we call stomachs. But, unfortunately, you a have a dream to realize and, as much as it breaks my heart not to have you around on this so special day, I will always support you. 

Unless you wanna join _Big Brother_. In that case I can't defend you.

I am sending this letter so that it strategically arrives one day before our anniversary there in Los Angeles, because I want you to make this show thinking about me; if I'm the only the person in your head while you transform music into art, I don't mind us been separated for a little while. 

I know we're living a moment kinda weird in our relationship - you didn't express it out loud, and neither did I, but we both know this weird vibe is present, like a dark cloud in the middle on a blue summer sky -, but I also know that we will go through it together and everything will turn out great.

In honor of our six years dating, I would like to list the six most special moments of this time we spent together. Maybe you're thinking I suffered some kind of stroke to be acting so romantic, specially because the high moment of my romanticism was buying a box of Shawarmas from the Arabic diner when you song first played on the radio, but I came to the conclusion that six years is a great milestone to start making clear everything I feel about you. 

MOMENT NUMBER ONE: when we met and the first thing you told me was "wow, you have really great cheekbones", because it was cute and weird at the same time, exactly the way you are; one of the things that made me fall in love with you. 

MOMENT NUMBER TWO: when you asked me to be your boyfriend while you held my head from the toilet because I had drank too much, and, on the breaks of vomiting my guts out, I asked if you were never going to; you laughed, told me you loved me and explained you thought we were already dating, that it wasn't actually necessary to ask. You also asked if you should ask for my father's blessing, and we both laughed so hard. When I start to drink too fast, I remember that day and stop, because no drinking will ever be as special as that one.

MOMENT NUMBER THREE: when I got into NYU and you bought me that ridiculous "first day of class kit" with only Hello Kitty products, that I use up until today and makes all my friends feel embarrassed.

MOMENT NUMBER FOUR: when we traveled together for the first time and went to the beach with your band pals in the middle of the winter; in that night that we were waiting the sunrise by a fire and you told me you wanted to have kids, and so we started discussing the names we'd give them - when you suggested we count to three and said our favorite girl name, and, on three, we said "Morgan" at the same time. I started crying. You laughed so hard of my face, but it was a really special moment to me.

MOMENT NUMBER 5: when you organized a surprise birthday show to me and played all my favorite songs - it was the best birthday of my life!

MOMENT NUMBER 6: when you accidentally burned my right hand's ring finger with the ashes of the cigar, and in the following moment, burned your own finger, claiming we wouldn't need commitment rings anymore because we had a burn pact.

Everyday I thank your high school friend for having left you alone in that Temaki barbecue we met; maybe, if you had company, you would have never noticed me, and we would have never initiated this beautiful, and sometimes weird, love story.

I hope you're having a wonderful night, doing what you were born to do, and that you return soon to New York (or I'll go to Madrid, hihi). I'll see you next Saturday and promise to even wear a tie for our yearly romantic date, because I know it annoys you how I only wear the same clothes.

I love you, _mi amore_.

Happy six years dating.

Tony.

* * *

November 13th, 2016 

The night was hot and moist as if the doors of Hell had been opened and Lucy ready to receive his guests. I was thrown in the living room's couch, watching a reprise of MasterChef and thinking about my chances on doing a dish like that using only pre-cooked pasta, Soy sauce and old cheese, the only available ingredients in the pantry. 

I was wearing my special pj's for lazy days and it was past shower time. It was a Sunday and I had college the next day, and just to think that my entire body crawled in sadness. 

I loved Journalism.

I hated waking up early. 

Suddenly, the bell rang. I got up, faithful that my mom had forgotten her keys again. Waving my head in disbelief, I opened the door, ready to give an improvised lecture, but I ended up finding my boyfriend standing on the other side.

He smelled like the the perfume I had given given him at Christmas and the pollution from New York. Stephen wasn't much into smiling, but he was making an effort. 

My heart sank in my chest. 

\- What are you doing here, Stephen? What about the show?

\- They'll be fine without a guitarist. That's why we have two of them - he answered, putting his the two warm, familiar and full of calluses musician hands in my face. - I received your letter and drove for six hours to tell you that I love you.


	2. blog post

4:26pm, March 2nd, 2018 

Uploaded by: Morgan 

I'd like to welcome everyone to the first post of my blog, created specially for the final assignment of the best subject of NYU's Journalism course, Online Journalism, taught by the amazing, wise and sexy professor Nick Fury (five points for the compliments, professor).

I would like to start stating that my name is not Morgan, that is just the pseudonym I chose so I could write to you guys - the reason of the choice is a bit personal, and I'd rather to not say it. 

The intention of this final assignment, by which I'll be evaluated and graded, is to demonstrate by writing, in an online page, the result of an investigation of a theme - _any_ theme that interests me, which was pretty hard to decide because, look at that, I like many themes! But after a lot of thinking and rethinking about what I'd like to write about, I finally got to a subject that has been instigating me a lot these past couple of days, and to which most people seem to sympathize to: astrology. 

I think I'm able to write your exacts thoughts right now, dear reader. _Another blog about star signs?_ _That's lame!_ Yes, yes, another one! But I'm pretty sure mine possesses a significant difference, that will interest both men and women (or any other gender you identify yourself as). 

_And what big and majestic difference is that, Morgan?_

It's very simple, imaginary person whom I'm having this dialogue with! I intend to offer my personal experiences with each sign!

_What? What do you mean, Morgan? I'm not following._

I, just like many of you (I hope so), started to search about astrology quite recently, and realized there are many theories out there, but almost zero practical experiences on the subject - is there a better way to learn something than to live it and feel it in your own skin? 

Therefore, I, male, young, homosexual, and single will be going out with the twelve star signs of the Zodiac, and will describe everything to you, in this blog; detail by detail, stereotype by stereotype, surprise by surprise. 

I imagine that the Astrology scholars are probably cursing me and yelling that "the sun sign itself means almost nothing", and I know that! I know that the others aspects of the birth chart are just as important, but I'm going to limit myself to the sun. Firstly, because this is going to be a simple research. Secondly, because I'm still learning about the subject and I don't want to come off like I'm a Steven Forrest or something, and thirdly because it's easier to find an Aries than a guy with sun, moon, and ascendant in Aries (for that, I'd have t go to the pits of hell)! 

Proper explanations are due, I finish here my opening post. As soon as I'm able, I'll come back here to describe my first date, preferentially in astrological order, that is, starting with the first star sign of the Zodiac.

I hope you enjoy the blog and that you can, at least, have a few good laughs over this crazy anthropological research! I also hope to get an A+ in the subject, because I'm pouring my heart and soul here (I'm just gonna leave that hanging here, professor). 

Starry kisses on all of you, 

M O R G A N


	3. Chapter 3

I always liked fairy tales. 

My favorite childhood movie was Cinderella. I used to watch at least once a day, until I drove my mom mad with the hallucinated and out of tone singing of an 8-year-old - that's probably why suddenly the tape decided "not to roll anymore". _Ms. Maria_ said I had used too much and the movie had rotten, but I'll never forget the burned tips of the tape when I accepted to throw away the mortal remains of my obsession. Guess I never made much of an effort to hide my sexuality. Thanks God. 

That time, I believed that, when I grew up enough to be immune to the germs of those yucky boys I was surrounded with, a beautiful prince would fit a crystal shoe in my foot and we'd live happily ever after in an enchanted castle. 

Then I grew up. And found out that the prince is more of an asshole, who doesn't know much about grammar and orthography rules. And it's not exactly a shoe he wants to fit in you. 

In pre-school, boys called me a rabbit, because my front teeth were the size of ultra tampons and my mom used to be quite generous when it came to feeding me. In middle school, however, I went through my growth spurt and lost the spare weight, but, on the other hand, my nickname affectionately became faggot, because, well, I was the most likely among them to be gay, which was entirely true - at least the growth rhythm of my teeth slowed down and soon they were all the same size and proportional to my face. In high school, I used to spend most of my free time hidden in the library, reading romances and classics, since life didn't turned out to be the Adam Sandler cheap comedy movie I thought it would.

Despite the traumas and the holes in my self esteem, I still believed the prince charming would come - he would maybe take a while because he was stuck in the traffic of the 5th Avenue, or maybe he was wasting his time with the wrong duke (not prince). I thought maybe the prince could be my first boyfriend, with his beautiful light eyes and the maximum cheap talk a 16 year old boy can have, with pearls like "hey, babe, can I put my hand inside your pants today?" 

The problem was - as it was obvious it was going to happen, because teenagers own the emotional depth of a cotton swab - that three other boys also believed he was their prince charming, and received the same loving promises and the same uncoordinated make out session behind the school gym. When I finally heard about the cheating, my heart shattered with the strength only the first love and first disillusion can have. My mom tried to console me with romantic comedy movies, books and chocolate, but all I wanted was to act like a wacko with no proud or self-love, and call him to convince him I was the best out of the four suitors. In the end, neither me or the other boys had to go through the humiliation, since the boy ended up picking, among all princes, an older socialite princess.

Two years and a few "half-princes" later, I met Stephen. I had just turned 16 when he showed up in my life like a rainy day in the middle of the hot summer - unexpected, but very much welcomed. We met in a birthday barbecue, and the connection was immediate. Despite the four years difference, he seemed enchanted with our common tastes and my facility to talk about musics, films, and video games (even though I was only doing it to impress him). We stayed for hours and hours talking, and on that same night, he gave me a ride home and kissed me in the building lobby, in a scene worthy of a low-budget romantic movie. A few months later, we were officially dating - of course it only become official after we put "dating" on Orkut and I could, at last, accept all those statements stuck in my home page. 

Good times, those of Orkut. 

Stephen had beautiful golden eyes and played the guitar in a band that was already starting to make some fame with the pre-teen public. He was very different from the boys my age, starting with the fact he had a car! We went together everywhere, just to sit in the front seats, talking and appreciating each other's companies. I felt the luckiest guy in the world, living a beautiful romance with my very own _rockstar._

I had all my firsts with Stephen. First relationship, first time, first fight, first DTR, first hungover. And, on my 22nd birthday, first cheating. And public.

It would be a lie to say I didn't expect that - after all, like my late Grandma used to say: "no one dies from the night before", and we were stumbling as a couple for a few months. But my stupid and childish hope that "love always prevails" blinded me; I truly loved him, with all my heart, with all the cells in my body, with all the ATP I daily produced, and I thought that was enough to maintain our relationship strong and firm for the rest of our lives, until one of us developed Alzheimer and had to read each other's diaries to keep intact the memories of our love. 

Yeah, that wasn't quite what happened. 

Of course I never even imagined that it would all end the way it did. In the few moments of clarity I had during our crisis, when it started to hit me that the end was near, I just believed that that we would break up and live our lives, until we meet again in a not so distant future, when we'd both be more mature, with good jobs and ready for a lasting relationship. _That_ would be a beautiful love story, with Shakespeare-level turnarounds. 

However, reality was a bit harsher with me. What actually happened was: my cousin and best friend Peter, alongside his boyfriend Wade, organized a surprise party for my birthday in a Japanese restaurant to which we used to go all time. Stephen went by my house to pick me up, and even if he was trying hard, I felt him really distant. We still went, and, on the middle of the dinner, Peter announced there was a little surprise for me, made by all my friends. A small retrospective of my 22 years of life started to pass on the restaurant's big screen. Everything was going just fine, thank you, until the pictures of my childhood as a toothy and happy kid were replaced by images of Stephen and Loki, a friend from college; they weren't very pleasant, a few very compromising, all incredibly incriminating. 

I'm not going to say I reacted with the maturity and graciousness of a young adult. And I'm not going to lie: the sushis that flew everywhere were all previously in my plate. But I lost my mind... in one minute, I felt hope, I thought I could turn this thing around and make my enchanted prince in a leather jacket remember the reasons why he had fallen in love with me, and on the next, I was throwing Shoyu to the air like Oprah throws wisdom gems. 

After the rage, came the tears. At least, I was already far enough to not give Stephen and Loki that taste. In a cab on the way back home, I soaked Peter's shirt while Wade tried to calm me down with pats in the back, like I was a Golden Retriever taking its first vaccine - I didn't judge him, after all, that was a really generous gesture given his emotional capability. 

Both of them promised they had no idea what had happened, that up until the previous day the retrospective was "normal", and all I could do was cry and scream that Loki was ugly and smelled like dog food, even though he looked like a damn Hollywood actor and smelled like wildflowers. 

The thing is, no Disney movie ever prepares you for the pain of betrayal, or the finding that the 6 years that went by meant absolutely nothing to the person whom you shared every joy and sadness. All the good moments, all the kisses, hugs, laughs, dinners, plans, movies, travels... all thrown in the trash can.

The following months were all too hard. Each day a new information shattered my soul, opening the recent wound again and again and again, as if I was a bruise and that situation was a devilish kid that didn't listen to her mother say "how many times will I have to tell you that, if you rip the scab of the wound, it will bleed and the bruise will never heal?"

First, Stephen appeared in my house with all my belongings in a cardboard box - he did not apologize, did not get down on his knees, did not ask to get back together, nor cried in regret; actually, he couldn't even look me in the eyes, just arrived with that stupid threadbare leather jacket, my books that had remained in his house and his guitar's case on his back. "I'm late", he said, putting the box on the floor. "I've got a show nearby and used to opportunity to give back your things".

 _Things_. My copy of _Love in the times of cholera_ could not be considered a thing. 

Later, it arose the rumors that him and Loki were dating. Rumors that became solid truth when their Facebook status changed to "in a serious relationship". And then I received the final shot: the discovery that who had sabotaged the images of my retrospective had been Loki himself, so that Stephen would break up with me in a hurry and get together with him for once - apparently, they had been together behind my back for months. 

I spent my days between college and Instagram, digging every movement of both, sunk in my own misery, crying and listening to a highly destructive combination of Lana del Rey, Taylor Swift, Sam Smith and James Bay. My mom tried to talk; Peter tried to cheer me up, but nothing worked.

I was destroyed. 

Eight months went by, the year came to an end, and I spent the New Year's Eve of 2017 to 2018 sitting in the beach, drunk, crying and looking like a fried meat ball from all the sand glued in my body, while Peter tried to make me get up and skip the seven lucky waves and Wade yelled at me that I needed to react.

It seemed like it would never end. Each picture of them together in social media crushed me, the videos of Stephen's shows were bookmarked in my computer, his smile stamped in the back of my memory, and I would sleep and wake listening to an audio he had sent me before it all came to ruins, saying "don't forget I love you, Tony". 

Until, in a fateful day, my story started to take a completely different path. And that only happened because Peter barged in my room with no authorization, kind of like Hurricane Katrina, plucked my earphones out with all the strength he had, looked me deep in the eyes and said: 

\- Anthony, lift this ass off this bed, take a decent shower, put on something slightly vulgar and a hint of makeup on that face. Tonight we're going out!


End file.
